


Zodiacal Light

by call_me_green



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Dubious Science, F/M, Fights, Giant Male, Light Bondage, Macro/Micro, Minigirl, On the Run, Science Fiction, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Space Flight, Teamwork, Worldbuilding, sexy situations, shrunken women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_green/pseuds/call_me_green
Summary: An unexpected collision between two worlds (and sizes) out in a forbidden, sterile, and dangerous pocket of our inner solar system, and the fight for survival that ensues. Sexual tension looms large as the law and planned obsolescence prove not to be the only things threatening to overcome our characters.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“Just let him go. Turn the ship around.”

“Let him go? We're so close to getting him!” The pilot responded to the Captain's abrupt order. They were only seconds away from being able to overtake their target and put an end to this joyride. Life as a law enforcement officer in the asteroid belt brought about financial stability and prestige, but with it came boredom and monotony. It was a life of hurry up and wait. Chances like this, to actually chase down and catch a real criminal, didn't come by nearly often enough. He addressed those concerns as he powered down the ship's main propulsion engine “With all due respect, Captain, what the fuck?!”

The Captain, after pausing for a few seconds, responded with another order. 

“Fire a couple of shots at him. Tracer rounds.”

This made even less sense than abandoning the chase, but the pilot knew it was pointless to disobey a direct order. After selecting the proper ammunition and quickly aiming, he unloaded an entire clip with a single press of a trigger. The illuminated shots, faced with a fading target to hit, never even got close to hitting the runaway ship.

“Shit, I missed him. Should I try again?” asked the pilot.

“He’s already dead. He’s about to enter a red zone.” warned the Captain. 

Illuminating almost the entire navigational display was a crimson red overlay that remained static and unchanging against the flickering screen. There were many different colors that would show up on that screen from time to time. Orange meant a known risk from asteroids. Yellow indicated high levels of radiation and upcoming solar events. Silver meant a more than good chance that whoever was operating in that area would shoot at any intruders. Nobody, not even the Captain himself, knew what red indicated. 

The pilot didn't need any more orders or pep talk as he hurriedly steered the ship and redirected power back into the engine. He could only mutter “Fuck me!” under his breath as he cranked up the acceleration and flicked the autopilot back on. So goddamn excited to be doing actual cowboy shit for once, he never even thought to check the navigation display. Even the Captain was a bit rusty and had only noticed the danger at the last minute. There was no procedure or plan in place for what would happen upon accidentally entering a red zone. They had heard enough stories about the red areas to know the gravity of what moments ago was before them. None of them made sense and most of them contradicted each other. The only common thread was that it was a place with no resources, a place of no strategic or symbolic value, and a place that no one ever returns from.

The uncharacteristic silence between the two men on the bridge was interrupted by an incoming message from one of the officers that made up the boarding party inside the ship's airlock. “What's the big hold-up? Why the hell did we just stop and turn around?”

The Captain held his finger down on the send-all button and responded back, “Suspect ship turned around and tried to ram us. We had no choice but to open fire and destroy it.”

Before the cacophony of fuck words could be heard coming from the airlock, the Captain pressed mute and slumped down into his chair. This didn't make anybody look good, especially him. While he could count on his pilot to back him up no matter what, his hastily-constructed story wouldn't hold up to scrutiny. Suicide by cop was a nearly extinct phenomenon in a world where death is always a few steps away. His men in the airlock would have to take his word for what happened, but his superiors would have plenty to say on the matter. But what choice did he have? Lying was better than admitting that he accidentally let someone go into a red zone.

“Dog bite my ass..”, a confusing and strange old idiom that he didn't know the story behind was all the Captain could utter as he began to type up his version of events in the official log.

“Excuse me?”

“Just shut the fuck up and fly the ship.” The Captain barked back to the pilot as he typed away every detail he knew about what happened. The alleged ship thief was identified by the anonymous caller who reported the theft as “Some earthborn shit-for-brains.” and the ship itself wasn’t found indexed in any of their official databases. Likely a pricey antique, its only distinguishing features were its gaudy red paint and small size. Even if there was absolutely nothing dangerous inside the red zone, it spanned tens of thousands of miles across and a midlife-crisis-mobile like that would barely make it halfway through before falling into disrepair.

The Captain didn't have any words left to say as the men, out of their spacesuits and back into their formal gear, began to shuffle back to their stations on the bridge. A silence only broken when one of them innocently asked him “Well, did it look cool at least when we blew him up?”

The lie wasn't going away and could only be expanded upon as the Captain answered with “Happened in the blink of an eye. Wasn't a whole lot to see. Hate to shoot down an old ship like that, but the guy had a death wish.”

In that moment, the Captain really did wish that the tracer rounds didn’t miss. Even if the thief was some Earthborn shit for brains, whatever lurked inside the red zone had better give them a quick and merciful death.


	2. Chapter 2

The overwhelming and all-encompassing boredom was surely going to kill Smith well before he ran out of food. The ship's clock told him that it had been 7 days since the police ship abandoned its pursuit of him. He should have either been dead or in prison by now, fates arguably better than where he found himself at this moment. Even whatever justice Russ could bring didn't actually seem as bad as this self-induced solitary confinement. This damn ship didn't even have a name, not that Smith was in a mood to give it any pleasant ones.

Absolutely sure now that he wasn't being followed by anybody, he set the ship to drift. Being afforded the chance to finally sleep longer than minutes at a time slumped over in the pilot's chair, he walked over to the bunk, his feet dragging along the dusty and litter strewn floor. Without even bothering to take off his shoes, he plopped himself onto the thin mattress and yanked the curtain surrounding the bunk shut. Even here in this dark and serviceable plastic cocoon, the sleep wasn't hitting him just yet. He couldn't be any more isolated and away from stimuli in this moment and yet his brain still raced through all the day's events.

Sure, it was technically 7 days, but it still felt like the same day to him. He woke up in the same greasy and grey capsule apartment. With a shower and a clean shave of his face he ritually prepared his mind and body for what was going to be another day working in the same demeaning and menial work, acting as one of Russ' henchmen. Henchman might have been the wrong word for what he did. More like 'assistant', to put it kindly. Always just the little piddly jobs that no one else in Russ' empire of fuckwits wanted to do. Smith thought at least after 7 years of loyal service he'd have paid his dues and earned more than the same jobs of “Hey, nutsack ninja, go get me a coffee!”, or “Yo, fuckface, this party needs more drugs!”

Today started off a little bit more exciting.

“Good morning, shit for brains. I need the ship ready for a little fun-time cruise this weekend.” Russ greeted him as he stepped into the office. Getting the old ship ready for an excursion was about the closest he'd ever gotten to having any sort of pride in his work. Not that he was the type to enjoy the busy work of cleaning the interior of the ship and piloting it manually into the refueling station. Literally anybody or any variety of cheaper machines could do a better job of it, a fact that Russ constantly brought up. At least it brought a few hours of peace as he sat alone and double-checked the controls and did a diagnostic of the ageing flight software. The final job was to reorder all the necessary food and supplies and endure the 15 minute wait for the drone delivery to appear.

All suited up and ready for a short spacewalk, he activated the airlock and exited the ship's docking bay, grabbing onto one of the metal handles bolted into the thick armour of the ship. A job like this, reaching out and grabbing a delivery and pulling it into the ship normally wasn't done like this. A bunch of really good laws dictated that this needed to be done with grabbing tools, a spotter and a secure tether, or even better by another separate smaller drone. He was running a tad late and didn't have time to bother with the very valid concern of losing grip and drifting out to injury or death. These grim thoughts were pushed out of his mind as the featureless white drone showed up on time and a side opened up to release its payload, a single trunk. Sweaty palms reached out to grab one of the trunk handles and he pulled it into the docking bay, following it closely behind.

Something that always messed with his senses was the transition from outside the airlock to inside the ship. Even for a seasoned veteran of spacewalks, crossing the thin barrier between weightlessness and each ship's own localized field of artificial gravity was no easy task. Today being no different as the light trunk stopped being so light and slipped out of his metallic gloves and crashed onto the floor. When the trunk landed right on its bottom corner the airtight lid didn't stand a chance and popped open, scattering bits of vacuum-packed food and spare clothes all over the floor.

“No no no no no!” he sputtered as he yanked off his helmet and examined the mess before him. The meal packets could be picked up easily enough, but it was going to take him some time to refold every article of clothing. The worst part though, was the divot punched into the floor he squatted down to examine with still-gloved hands. They don't make ships like this anymore. Its peculiar round shape, fire red exterior coloring and apartment-like amenities made it a collector's item. The insurance alone it costs to own a ship with manual controls in a populated area would bankrupt most people. Its small size, less than 30 feet in diameter, only helped boost its monetary value as just about everything else on the market was easily double that.

Smith's body went limp as all the energy in him went surging through his panicked and racing mind. Not even the sound and sensation of one of the dried food mix bags popping from beneath his big dumb space butt could snap him out of it. For what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, he sat there at a complete loss for how he was going to fix this. Even accepting that Russ only kept him around as a human punching bag, there was no scenarios Smith didn't see in front of him where Russ didn't fire him. All Smith could see was a version of himself who was jobless, uneducated, and blacklisted from ever getting a job in the only industry that mattered at the age of 25. It didn't look a whole lot different than what he must have looked like now, sitting in a pile of debris with protein dust covering the assplate of his spacesuit. Smith couldn't help but laugh as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to the bunk and from there he found the strength to stand back up on his feet.

“Okay.” was all he could say as he took off the spacesuit and walked over to the seat at the controls. First order of business was to tap the the dashboard Hawaiian Hula doll, the only bit of decor Russ dared to add to the entire vessel when he acquired it. Smith wasn't much for superstition, but he also wasn't much for grand theft. The little doll gave back a friendly wobble as his finger left it and worked to shut off all communications and begin engine start. It was likely the only friend Smith would have for a while as his plan was to just to fly the ship as far away from the colony as possible. A more cohesive plan for what to do would have to come later, assuming he survived the escape attempt. The communications being shut off severely limited the ship's ability to navigate, so he could only guess as to where more colonies could potentially exist. He just picked a random direction and slammed his foot on the pedal.

“I must have looked pretty cool, speeding away like that, dodging that bit of gunfire” was the last thing he thought to himself before his tired mind finally accepted the offer of a decent sleep. For the time being, he would no longer be troubled by the grim reality of what he faced, should he keep going forward or decide to turn around.


	3. Chapter 3

The sleeping girl’s wrist began to vibrate, something it always did at precisely 08:15 every single day. The rather enjoyable dream she was having already began to fade from her memory as dutifully rose out of bed and began her morning stretches. 

Triggered by the motion of her arm stretches, a computerized voice began to emanate from the wrist-worn device.

“ _ Good morning, Lucia. _ ”

Lucia wasn’t startled in the slightest by this intrusive voice and continued to stretch in an effort to shake the morning soreness and stiffness from her mind and body. Feeling more limber and awake, she now took a minute make her bed. It was expected of her to always leave everything in the same condition she had found it in. As she smoothed out the blanket, she spoke into her wrist.

“Cass, how did we do last night?”

The reply from Cass was always instantaneous. 

“ _ 3 wins and 4 losses for a net loss of 1 point _ .”

Lucia could only shake her head in disappointment as she headed into the bathroom to continue her uneventful morning routine. With a delivery of cargo expected at any moment, each and every point her clan received or lost was more vital than ever. A loss of one point would still keep her clan safely in third place, but this brought little comfort. Contestants and starting times for matches were procedurally generated at semi-random intervals during all 24 hours of the day. Even just a day’s worth of bad luck could send a clan all the way down to last place. 

The notion of luck and her destiny being out of her control brought discomfort to Lucia. The idea that any given match was unwinnable was something she couldn’t disagree with more. This was more than just something she waxed on philosophically. Her record was consistently one of the best in her clan, never dipping below that critical .500 ratio. The forms of competition were widely varied, from puzzle solving to rock climbing. There was room for her to improve on all of those, but most of her focus was on being the best possible hand-to-hand fighter. 

Even here and now in the shower she fought with her imaginary opponent. Her hands purposefully darted through the bits of water coming out of the faucet. Her head, covered in shampoo, plotted all of the possible ways to force the opponent before her to submit. The white noise of the falling water and complete privacy made showers the perfect time to focus on the fights to come. This time was all too short as the automated shower turned off and she was forced to step out

  
  


The chance to get into a ring with an adversary was more than just a fun little escape for her. There was a very serious level of prestige attached to fighting matches. While they were worth the same amount of points as every other competition, they were shown to be a useful tool for resolving disputes. Warfare and non-sanctioned fights have long been taboo but there was still a high degree of animosity that naturally arose in between the 12 clans. Not every issue could simply be talked over or brokered by Cass. 

Before even getting herself dressed, Lucia slipped her wristband back on to reconnect herself with Cass. As she was putting on her underwear, the device gave a chime. 

_ “Lucia. You have randomly been assigned a match. Please proceed immediately to the fighting ring. You have 10 minutes before the match is forfeited.”  _

As much as Lucia hated fighting on an empty stomach, these words were music to her ears. This was a prime chance to earn a point for her clan just in advance of a cargo delivery. It had been weeks since her last match and she could hardly take credit for the recent surge to third place. Being unpaired and childless already diminished her share of the clan’s cargo considerably. Sometimes she barely got enough fabric to even replace a single article of clothing. The act of putting her clothes on as fast as possible spared her the experience of stressing out about how worn out and shabby her clothes had become. She could only hope that she wouldn’t be scrubbing out too many blood stains from her soft blue outfit after this fight was finished. 

As she speedwalked out of the door, she wished for an opponent from a clan that wore red or brown. At least that way they wouldn’t be stressing out too much over blood stains after she made them bleed all over themselves. More than just securing respect and cargo, fighting was simply just fun. A bad fight day was still better than a good working day. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth was more satisfying than the taste of a good meal after a long day of work. The aromatic and almost intoxicating scent of the crops she was taking a shortcut through didn’t compare. Even if she lost, she would still be getting a good meal for it. Naturally grown crops and whatever food and vitamins came with the cargo were always divided fairly between everybody on an individual basis. The wrist devices not only served as a communications device but also measured movement and exercise in order to determine a proper caloric intake for the day. Points and politics and talent couldn’t ever interfere with this, and for good reason. This kept peace and parity intact as weaker clans couldn’t simply be starved out of existence. 

Walking through the fields also reminded her of the overall monotony of a life spent working tirelessly. How many hours had she spent measuring the nitrogen levels of the dirt she darted across? The only saving grace was that at least she was rotated between jobs with predictable frequency. All week she’d been placed underground to join in on the ongoing process of repairing and replacing the extensive network of wires and circuitry that ran everywhere. This is the same path she would have been taking had this fight not happened, a jaunt through the fields and a small metal doorway that concealed a ladder. Instead of going down to work, she climbed upwards to her fight which was scheduled for less than 4 minutes from now. The ladder extended upwards for hundreds of feet, but Lucia was hardly concerned with the distance. 

Her first few dozen steps upward were rather slow and labored and timid, but she began to speed up. With each step she strained a little less and loosened her grip somewhat. She still had a natural fear of heights but this was negated through years of experience at climbing this ladder. It wasn’t just the time limit or her eagerness to let off some steam that sped up her climb, but the lessening influence of gravity. The higher she got, the closer she got to the center of the constantly spinning cylinder that housed her and nearly 1800 other inhabitants. She bent her knees to get her feet out of the way, her arms alone now enough to pull her lighter and lighter body upwards. As she approached the last couple dozen feet, she gripped the sides of the ladder in order to slow herself down and make a smooth transition to the complete weightlessness of the fighting area. Her fighting gloves were thick enough to prevent the friction from burning her hands as she came to a near complete stop. 

Already her opponent was in view as she came over the top. This adversary was much taller than Lucia’s rather petite 5’3” frame and with platinum blonde hair that shimmered and floated in the air. Already this lady was in the middle of the arena, an area surrounded by clear plexiglass on all sides and provided a complete view of all 3 strips of land and the enormous windows out to space in between them. She couldn’t quite remember the name of this chick, but her bright white outfit was all that mattered. This meant that she belonged to one of the clans sitting at the bottom of the standings. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly as desperate opponents could be quite unpredictable. Some of Lucia’s biggest defeats have come from weak clans who only had pride to fight for. With less than 30 seconds to go before the match began, Lucia oriented her body so that her opponent was above her and straightened herself out. The next move would have been to kick her heels together to activate the compressed air canisters in her boots that would have propelled her just enough to reach her opponent for the opening handshake and the start of the fight. 

The speaker on her wrist crackled to life. This confused Lucia tremendously as there was still 15 seconds of free time before the start of the fight and Cass never ever spoke a second too early. 

“ **_All work, sleep, and matches are to cease immediately. This is not a drill._ ** ”

The sheer urgency and added weight in Cass’ digital voice immediately gave Lucia a chill, more than the actual words being spoken.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucia and her opponent just floated on opposite ends of the open space, giving each other a mutual head shake and shrug of visible confusion. The last time life on the station paused and emergency orders were issued was for 3 simultaneous breaks being detected in the glass panels which needed immediate cooperation from every clan to safely and promptly fix. Single glass breaks were a monthly occurrence and were typically a low-priority easy fix that was delegated to whoever was closest to the location of the break. As well-designed as the station was, it was not immune to the occasional hit from a piece of debris. That was Lucia’s first suspicion, a major break somewhere in the glass which needed immediate repair in order to maintain the integrity of the internal atmosphere. A cursory glance out in every direction showed nothing. While this wasn’t the best vantage point to see every glass panel in the station, it was highly unlikely that this was the true nature of this emergent situation. Until Cass sounded an all-clear signal or added clarification on this order to pause everything, Lucia and her opponent could only float there and wait. 

With every second that passed, the situation grew ever more confusing. Cass, in her great wisdom, had formulated and disseminated contingency plans for just about every possible emergency that could be foreseen. Some of the items the station denizens were regularly drilled on included fire, loss of atmosphere, loss of power, a slowdown in rotation and loss of gravity, and missing persons. Once the nature of the threat is identified, it only takes Cass’ digital brain fractions of a second to begin implementation of a plan and delegation of duties. Lucia’s own flesh and blood based brain burned as she reached and reached for any possible reason for this to be happening. The confusion briefly turned to hope, as one conclusion immediately came to mind. 

Could this be the Dawn? Will Lucia be part of the first generation in hundreds of years to return home to Mother Earth? She knew it was inevitable that the long night, which confined this last remnant of humanity to this artificial station, would have to end soon. What nobody knew, not even Cass, was when this was to occur. The rehabilitation of earth, scorched and poisoned beyond all livability, had no timeline for completion. Drones and automated systems worked tirelessly to mend the ruined planet. No one knew what they looked like, or how they exactly operated, but the steady delivery of fresh cargo of both salvaged and freshly created earthly goods stood as proof of their existence. Proof that humanity had not been forgotten, in spite of what it had done to its home and to itself. The promise that the Dawn provided was what really kept everybody going. Not only was it a great motivator to keep working at keeping the station alive, it brought the clans together for a common goal and kept them from destroying one another. In order to be worthy of experiencing the Dawn, humanity must constantly demonstrate that they were above the petty power games that caused the destruction of the Earth in the first place. All of the hard work and patience would be rewarded in the end. 

Lucia’s own patience would no longer be strained as Cass finally spoke once more.

“ **_Report to your designated emergency shelters. A meeting of all clan leaders is underway. Individual instructions will be given out as the situation becomes clear. All point totals and standings are locked until further notice._ ** **_For your safety, stay underground and out of view of any outside windows. Proceed quietly and cautiously, Your life may depend on it._ ** ”

That’s why it took so bloody long. The council of clan leaders needed time to get together. Though largely a ceremonial entity, they had some limited decision making skills and together could override any of Cass’ decisions. This power was never normally used, as Cass seemed to have a good handle on things. 

Before the words of the message could really begin to sink in, a siren began to blare out from speakers all throughout the station. This was something Lucia had never heard in all her 22 years of being alive. The alternating high and low pitches was something no training could have mentally prepared her for and the auditory experience of it all sent more chills down her spine than the damn message did. As Lucia looked through the windows, she could see dozens of figures running on the ground, each one heading towards staircases leading to the underground outer levels. The giant mirrors surrounding the station began to automatically adjust their position, bringing about nightfall at 8:48 in the morning. As the station fell into complete and total darkness, small pockets of emergency lighting was activated across all of the evacuation routes. The ladder enclosure behind her was ominously lit with a soft sodium amber glow. In the 2 minutes she stood there in a daze and watched and listened as this situation enfolded all around, the woman she was supposed to fight had already scrambled down another ladder, leaving just Lucia alone up there. 

A malaise fell over Lucia’s face as her mind raced. This definitely was not the Dawn, that she knew for sure. The gravity of the message and the time it took to deliver took her thoughts to grim places and strange places. Was the station in the path of a rogue asteroid that couldn’t be dodged and was certain to cause catastrophic damage? Could a Carrington level solar flare be headed right for the station? Has there been some sort of failure involving the artificial intelligence of the systems that maintained the drone supply chain? Aliens? 

The silliness of that last suggestion was enough to snap her out of this temporary daze, and she finally gathered her wits together just long enough to spin around and start climbing down the ladder. A lapse in concentration when going down the ladder could easily cause a devastating fall, so she tried her best to tune out her thoughts and take her time climbing down the ladder. As she neared the ground level, once again that wrist device vibrated to indicate something was to be said. Cass has a special instruction for Lucia. As the computerized voice spoke there was a brief pause in the sirens in the ladder enclosure, which helped Lucia hear the message with much more clarity.

“ _ Lucia. Do not go to any emergency shelters. Do not evacuate. You are to put on your spacewalk equipment and proceed immediately to the cargo receiving bay. _ ”

Lucia almost fell off the damn ladder and had to steady herself when she heard the order. Once the message ended, the unsettling sound of the siren returned to its full volume. Cargo deliveries are seamless and automated, what possible reason could there be to make her go down there? Was a problem with the delivery the cause of this unexpected state of emergency? Did anyone else get the same order as Lucia? Lucia had questions, so many goddamn questions. But she had orders too, and orders always trumped questions.


	5. Chapter 5

Smith had finally figured out that he was dreaming. The table in the main hallway looked almost 4 dimensional and changed shape every time he turned away from it. In most of his dreams he was back on Earth, finding himself once again wandering the slums of the decaying and emptying cities. It was never the fact that he had been living millions of miles away from Earth for a long time that spoiled his dreams. Not even the encounters with long-dead people and pets gave him that vital indication that everything before him was fantasy. It was always something silly that clued him onto the fact that he was asleep. Sometimes the light would reflect in strange ways around objects, or any switches he pressed would have the opposite intended effect. Part of him must have longed for the fun escape of experiencing dream lucidity. This was always the moment where he got too excited and would end up waking himself up inadvertently. 

Nothing was happening. The 4 dimensional table was still breaking reality in front of him. Why hadn’t he woken up? Was he dead? Did the ship blow up or vent out all of its oxygen while he was asleep? At any rate, it didn’t matter. This dream now belonged to him, fully and completely and was no longer just something he was idly experiencing. He could do whatever he wanted in this world. He could fly around like a superhero from the ancient movies he grew up watching. The hottest babes in the land would find his charms irresistible. He could summon Russ to appear before him and beat the snot out of him. Usually when he went after Russ in his dreams, he was stuck in quicksand, his slow motion punches only lightly glanced off of the smiling jackass. 

Before he could get to all the fun business, there was still this table in front of him. The table had started to beep. It was a fast-paced series of beeps that made one its perspective breaking drawers pop in and out. Smith tried to fly away from this stupid loud table, but as if it was magic it followed closely behind. Nothing he could do to the table could make it go away or quiet down. With the precision of a metronome the beeping continued and would follow Smith around endlessly. Smith could teleport himself to another galaxy and the beeping would have followed him there. It just went on and on: beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…

“Aw, shit.”

Smith struggled to pry open his heavy eyelids as the beeping noise continued. He could have slept through a lot of things, but there was something especially annoying about that particular noise. A life of constantly living out of a suitcase and constantly changing rooms had taught him to wake up on time without the need for an alarm. At least if this was an alarm clock he could reach over and disable it, but the sound was coming all the way from the dashboard. 

His arm was numb and palsied when he rolled over to slide open the curtain still surrounding him. This was due to him falling asleep on his side in his extreme fatigue. He could fall asleep anywhere and in any position but always had a preference for being flat on his back. The bright and blinding light from outside his cocoon strained his eyes and his arm was already experiencing that burning pins and needles sensation. No longer dulled by the curtain, the dissonant and piercing tones of the alarm put him in further discomfort. There was no possible way that he was ever going to be able to go back to sleep while these sensations persisted. Like it or not, it was time to get up. 

Smith rose up out of his bed and stepped onto the floor, using his good arm to stabilize and balance himself and alternating open eyelids as his pupils slowly adjusted to the light. He had every reason in the world to be grumpy, but this was blunted by an unexpected feeling of optimism. This alarm could mean something horrible, for sure. Maybe the propulsion system was failing and ready to leave him permanently stranded in this isolated tomb. Could be that the power system was about to go, taking the steering, anti-gravity, and eventually life support systems with it. Heck, this could even be the ship’s way of warning him that law enforcement, or someone worse, had caught up to him. Perhaps it was something even worse than all of those options combined. Smith, for all his time in this ship, knew precious little about how it operated and what each noise could possibly be. 

Earthborn scum like him were extremely low priority when it came to the training and hiring of pilots and technicians and mechanics. It used to be that someone would need to have a knack for all these vocations and trades in order to get off of earth and establish themselves on a colony. That knowledge and know-how drained away from the planet and eventually was only reserved for the select few and their children who were born on these colonies. The biggest innovation of all, the gravity generator, still remains the deepest kept secret. Emerging from the chaos and innovation and uncertainty of the Interesting Times, it enabled vast amounts of people to escape the gravity well of earth at minimal cost. Before the Interesting Times, only dozens of people had ever gone into space. Colonies that resembled cities on Earth more than any retro-futuristic pre-IT space station designs could easily be built on mined out asteroids, anchored with the aid of artificial gravity. All Smith, and most other people, knew about the technology was that it was a magic black box that electricity flowed into and gravity poured out of. Any attempts to take it apart would prove fruitless as they’re designed to explode at the first sign of tampering. If there was a problem with that part, or anything else with the ship, Smith was as good as dead as he didn’t have a clue on how to fix any of it.

Finally, having woken up enough to walk without falling over, Smith shuffled over to the console to finally see what the big problem was and how screwed he could possibly be. Squinting his eyes to focus, he read the text below the flashing light that was accompanying the noise.

**_PROXIMITY ALERT. LARGE UNKNOWN CRAFT IN FLIGHTPATH AHEAD. CONTACT IN APPROXIMATELY 1H26M. DIVERT OR ADJUST FLIGHTPATH TO AVOID._ **

The uncertainty, dread, and exhaustion of the past week had been rough on Smith. At no point was it enough to convince him to turn around, but the knowledge that he was probably going to die alone still ate away at him. Countless people before him had tried to venture out into the deep, dark, and cold stretches of space that surrounded the resource rich solar system. No one ever remembers their names or what they did. There’s no stories written or shanties sung about all of these unknown figures. His escape seemed doomed to amount to nothing more than a short police report and a scribble on Russ’ monthly list of vehicle and equipment write-offs. Without giving it a second thought, Smith gave the steering a slight nudge towards the source of the alarm and gave his little dashboard doll a little good luck tap. This only made the alarm beep slightly louder. As irritating as it was, it was the best noise he had heard in a long time. 

With an hour and change left to kill, it might be proper to clean up all the scattered debris he had carelessly left on the floor. More importantly, a shave, a shower and a quick venting couldn’t hurt either. Smith could smell his body odour a little bit when he brought his wrist up to his face when reading the warning message. It then followed that if he could smell himself a little bit, then everyone else would be able to smell him a whole lot. In the slim chance that there were visitors ready to come aboard, or invite him over to his ship he ought to smell decent.  Something he discovered by accident during the escape was the button that turned on the shower, located on the dashboard next to all the flight stuff. Unsurprising, as a lot of these old ships have strange design choices. Still, it was useful as he gave it a quick press before turning around.

As he took off his clothes and headed into the now running shower, he caught a brief glimpse of himself in the small mirror hanging above the sink. It was hard to even recognize himself. A week without shaving had given him the most facial hair he’d had since he was a teenager. Russ didn’t want any “bearded cavemen motherfuckers” working for him, apparently. More startling than that was his bloodshot eyes, sunken in a little bit as an early sign of malnutrition. A natural reaction to staying up a week straight and eating only the tasty rations that lacked key nutrients. Needless to say, it was a disconcerting sight and Smith almost backed away from the mirror in shock.

The water came down in a fine mist from multiple angles once he was inside the shower. The carefully controlled and curated water pressure and temperature settings was a pleasant surprise. There was no visible controls to adjust either of these settings, but it didn’t matter as they seemed to be at just the right level. If the beeping woke up his body, and the proximity alert woke up his mind, then this luxurious shower experience was enough to wake up his spirit. He was never one to particular enjoy showers. The shoddy, grungy, and unfriendly communal showers back on the station had made hygiene into a chore. It was an everyday routine of hop-in, lather up as fast as possible, and hope there was enough time to rinse. Of all the genius minds inhabiting space, seemingly none of them could do plumbing for shit. Except for whoever built this fuckin’ thing. The only design flaw was the complete lack of privacy. The glass door wasn’t frosted or warped or tinted in any way. Steam condensation covered it somewhat, but it still left little to the imagination to anyone wanting to peek in from the outside. For the first time, Smith was momentarily glad he was alone. 

If Smith was going to be honest with himself, it was closer to the third or fourth time that he was glad to be alone. The past week had seen him engage in some of the most desperate, awkward and immediately shameful faps of his life. There was absolutely nothing on this ship in terms of entertainment. No media files whatsoever on any computer system that he could find, no reading material, and no games of any sort. Who could blame him for coming up with some entertainment of his own? All he had to look at for any sort of visual aid was the dashboard hula doll. Out of some irrational urge he rotated it so it wasn’t facing towards him and just tried his best to focus on the movement of those little hips and ignore the fact that he was masturbating to plastic. He briefly thought about touching himself in the shower, but it wouldn’t be wise to potentially fuck up seemingly the only good plumbing job any Earthborn’s experienced in the last 100 years. 

Feeling clean enough, he was faced with a new dilemma. The only way to shut off the shower would be to walk all the way across to the same button that turned it on. Every bit of internal praise for this shower in his head evaporated away as he made the simultaneous realization that there was no towels anywhere on this crappily designed bitch of a fuck ship. All he could do was try and use his hands to squeegee water off of himself and then slowly shimmy across the rather slippery floor to the button. Even if water got everywhere, it would all evaporate and get recycled all the same. At least Smith hoped that was the case. That much moisture in the air couldn’t be very good for the electronic systems that controlled every aspect of the ship. No wonder these goddamn things were so expensive to own and maintain. 

The lack of a towel had made getting dried and dressed a less than ideal experience. His underwear and shirt did their best job of sticking to his skin as he pulled them on, and the act of balancing on one foot to put on socks wasn’t one of his best performances. Already, his hair was ready to stick up and just do whatever the hell it wanted. No amount of artificial gravity could tame it into any sort of reasonable style, and it was longshot to expect there to be any sort of styling product stashed away somewhere. While he looked and felt cleaner, another glance in the shower definitely clued him into the fact that he was a goddamn mess. While there was still plenty of time to shave, he figured it would be a good idea to put on his space suit to cover up his face in the off chance that he would be entertaining a guest or visiting somebody. The last thing Smith wanted to do was give anybody a needless scare. 


	6. Chapter 6

Panting from her run through what were now empty and dark fields, Lucia had stumbled into her room and opened up the closet door. Her front door wasn’t even closed before she already began to strip down to her underwear in order to fit inside her skintight suit. The suit, like almost every piece of hardware on the station, was a hand-me-down. A hand-me-down which had been refurbished and repaired and modified to her specifications, but still a hand-me-down. Originally built for someone half a foot taller and with a much less slender frame, Lucia spent a considerable amount of time finding ways to reduce the dimensions of the suit while still keeping all functionality and safety relatively intact. Knowing how to make use of every possible tool, material, and tidbit of knowledge was vital for survival on the station. This commitment to sustainability and efficiency was instilled in everybody since birth. She might have done too good of a job, as there wasn’t enough room in there to wear very much in terms of clothes, but no one else had to know that. 

  
  


Having squeezed into the suit, she was in the middle of applying her ceremonial face paint. The face paint didn’t serve any practical purpose, but it was a hallmark of her particular clan and she thought it had some charm to it. It was a single white triangle pointed downwards with a thick black border just below her left eye. If she had more time, she would have added some more personalized flair to it, but her vibrating wrist put a stop to that. 

_ “This isn’t the time for vanity. Verify that your suit is structurally intact and has a full oxygen supply. Once you are inside the cargo bay, climb inside the cargo container that is already there. When that has been completed, you will await further instructions.” _

“Cass, what? Why? Is there something wrong with the cargo? Is anyone else going to be there? Why do I need to be suited up for this? Is there anybody on the council of clan leaders I can talk to?”

An electric shock from the wrist device was the only answer Lucia received. She hadn’t been shocked in a couple of years by that thing and had almost completely forgotten what it felt like. It was the first step Cass used to combat non-compliance in attending to tasks deemed essential to the entire station. The right to refuse work was almost a foreign concept as just about every job was classified as essential. Including whatever the hell this one was supposed to be. 

“Cass, okay!” was all she could say in the moment as she grabbed her helmet and ran out the door. The path to the cargo bay at the sun-facing end of the station was another series of empty fields and corridors, alit with emergency lighting and echoing with that godawful siren. An electric lift, strong enough to accommodate vast cargo loads, took her to the portal to the cargo bay. As it got higher, the sensation of gravity faded away and she kept a tight grip on one of the many handles inside the lift. 

Having reached the top, the door opened and she pushed herself into the dark cargo bay. She was in no danger of becoming disoriented, as there was still more handles to grab onto and clear markings indicating agreed upon up and down directions. Really, there’s no such thing as up or down in the directionless void the station inhabited. Even if it was arbitrary and fake, it was good to have that sense of direction, Lucia agreed. 

Her thoughts as she approached the cargo container that dominated the room were of how pointless this all seemed. The station is in an active state of emergency, that she knew, and she couldn’t think of any rational reason why she should be chosen to basically sit it out. There was a million jobs more essential than this which she is more than capable of performing. All of the people in shelters right now are soon going to need food, water, entertainment, and peace of mind. Vital systems, those not automated by Cass, need to be monitored. The longer this went on, the worse it was for the well-being of everybody. 

A grave thought crossed her mind as she attached her helmet and then launched herself upwards, towards the top of the container. What if this is more than just a false alarm or test? The thought brought goosebumps to her skin. There was no army, no self-defense force, and no plan whatsoever for fighting or resisting any potential intrusion. Such things were regarded as unnecessary and even toxic to the overall well-being of the station. Still though, no one could deny that the love of violence, that primal impulse to smack somebody on the face, was still a necessary component of the human condition. Lucia didn’t know what she would do with herself without the opportunity to go and fight somebody for prestige and cargo. Sure, it was a crude and painful exercise, but at least it provided a little bit of purpose that went beyond mere sustainability. 

Peering over the edge, it was evident that everything inside the container was still unspoiled and wrapped up tightly. Only a few times before, when her clan was at the top of the standings and had first picks, did she see cargo this untouched. It was never ever a perfect job, as there was still many voids caused by inefficient packing and awkwardly shaped materials. One such void near the top seemed like a good place to sit. She floated to it and began to pull herself down inside. Thankfully, Lucia was far from claustrophobic. Hundreds of hours in tight spaces, doing things such as repairing irrigation lines and rewiring electrical components, had eliminated any trace of it within her.

Now it was time to trust in Cass. Lucia tucked her feet down to ensure none of herself was protruding from the container. While Cass was able to exert some independent thought, her primary function and purpose was to ensure the long-term survival of the station and everyone living on it. If climbing into a cargo box and doing nothing was Lucia’s function and purpose, then in this moment she resolved that she would do it to the best of her ability. 

“Cass. I’m in. What n---”

The container lid slammed down in a split second with absolutely no mercy whatsoever. The helmet’s sound canceling properties did nothing to erase the shock and betrayal Lucia was overwhelmed with. Aside from the blinking light on her wrist indicating a lost signal, and her own panicked sobbing gasps of fear, Lucia’s world was now darkness and silence.


	7. Chapter 7

After all those days of nothing, Smith had found more nothing. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t a colony or mine. Built out of asteroids of various sizes, they were typically hundreds of meters wide at the minimum and could be seen from very far away. He was about to recheck his navigation screen and alarm to make sure this wasn’t just a strange mirage of space when he finally saw it. A glint of sunlight reflecting off of what looked to his eyes to be a large floating soda can. He slowed down the ship as he made his approach towards it. If it was occupied, or at the very least monitored by A.I. then this deceleration would hopefully send the message that he meant no harm. He took his hands off of the control, removed his helmet and just watched with wonder as this interesting object got closer to him. 

It looked like something out of the past’s future. That’s the only combination of words Smith could think up to describe the object in space floating in front of his ship. Cylindrical in shape and lined with enormous glass windows up and down their entire length, the seemingly mile-long object spun around like the ancient clothes washing machines of his childhood. The size of the object wasn’t what impressed him - indeed Russ used to brag about getaways at orbiting resorts 20 miles wide - but the uniformity of it. Space architecture, to Smith’s understanding, was anything but uniform. 

Every constructed environment Smith had encountered seemed to follow the same pattern. Something gets built. Original occupants make due with it. Someone new moves in, usually by force. They don’t like the way it looks and think they can do a better job. Stuff gets added on and removed. Someone else managed to strongarm them and take over. They have an even better idea for how to make money with this building. Time to add more random shit onto it. Repeat for as long as necessary, until the original object isn’t even there any more or is entirely covered up and used for something in no way resembling its original purpose. The last capsule hotel Smith remembered staying at used to be a military kitchen of some sort. It had been redone and cleaned up, but the place still smelled of grease. 

“Good going, Smith. You found a..thing.” he said to himself as he slowed the ship down to being stationary relative to the thing. He impatiently tapped his helmet as he stared at it and waited for something to happen. No faces popping out anywhere. No lights turning on. No bullets separating his skull into pieces. Was there really fucking nothing here? Smith tried to think of how he would react if some strange little ship showed up and stared at him. 

“Oh fuck!”

The communication channel was still on mute. If anything was going to happen, then they’d probably have the courtesy to say something about it first. He reached across the console and cranked the volume up. 

_ “-t dire of consequences. We will now broadcast this message in multiple languages to ensure understanding and compliance. Es muy importante que escuche y entienda este mensaje.” _

“What? Consequences?”

Smith instantly regretted leaving the volume down on mute. He could tell that it was Spanish being spoken, but didn’t understand any of it.

_ “No existe el honor en este lugar. No se conmemora ninguna obra estimada aquí. No hay nada de valor aquí.” _

He was going to have to say something, anything, to get whatever was in that thing to repeat the English portion. 

_ “Todo lo que está aquí es peligroso y repulsivo. El centro de este peligro está contenido dentro del constructo.” _

A quick scan of the console revealed a button that read “Transmit message.” He depressed it once.

“Uhh uh English.”

_ “El peligro permanece real en su tiempo como lo fue cuando estaba construido.” _

“I said English. Uhh, Inglis. Inglissio. Inglays.”

_ “El peligro se desata si se queda en esta área o si se perturba la construcción.” _

He mashed the button again. “Hello? Can you hear me? Hello!?”

_ “Lo mejor es evitar este lugar y dejarlo deshabitado e inadvertido.” _

Maybe the button needed to be held down. He tested that idea out. “Hello? Play the English again. Is there anyone there?”

_ “Este lugar fue elegido para mantener el peligro lejos de la gente.” _

He held the button down even harder, almost cracking the plastic. “Can you hear me? Please!”

_ “Si se niega a reconocer este mensaje, la consecuencia será lo más grave." _

Maybe he was being too quiet. He spoke loud and slow this time.“HELLO! I MEAN YOU NO HARM. TALK TO ME!”

There was a pause of several seconds. 

_ "Il est très important que vous écoutiez et compreniez ce message.” _

He released the button in defeat. “Fuck! Fucking French now?”

_ “Il n'y a pas d'honneur dans cet endroit. Aucun travail estimé ici n'est commémoré.” _

He slumped back into his seat. “Great. Just fucking great.”

_ “Il n'y a rien de valeur ici. Tout ce qui est ici est dangereux et repoussant.” _

“Is this computer just fucking with me?”

_ “Le centre de ce danger est contenu dans la construction.” _

“Is this all a fucking joke?”

_ “Le danger reste réel à son époque comme il a été construit.” _

“Ooh, le danger. I understand that one!”

_ “Le danger se déchaîne si vous restez dans cette zone ou si la construction est perturbée.” _

“There it is again.”

_ “La meilleure chose à faire est d'éviter cet endroit et de le laisser inhabité et inaperçu.” _

If there was any danger, Smith didn’t feel it at this moment. Only increasing frustration. “I Don’t fucking believe this shit!”

_ “Cet endroit a été choisi pour garder le danger loin des gens.” _

Smith was getting so worked up, his fists were starting to clench up. “Fuck me, fuck my life, fuck this ship. What the fuck was I thinking?”

_ “Si vous refusez de reconnaître ce message, la conséquence sera la plus grave." _

His fists were clenched together all the way now. “You’re a fucking piece of shit! FUCK!”

A chime played in the ship, followed by a message displayed on screen that simply said ‘MESSAGE SENT!”

What followed was a crystal clear recording of what Smith had apparently just broadcast for everybody nearby to hear. 

“You’re a fucking piece of shit! FUC-”


	8. Chapter 8

Smith couldn’t move a single muscle in his body at that moment. Frozen in suspended animation, with sweat beginning to leak out of his forehead and palms, he awaited whatever the next message might be. 

_ “You cannot offend me. Your concerns have been noted. There is no benefit to projecting hostility. All of the profanity and bravado in the universe will not save you from the danger.” _

The English voice on this thing sounded to Smith’s ears a lot more stern and matronly compared to the Spanish and French. 

_ “For the safety of you and everyone you know, I will continue to act in good faith and do what I can to ensure that nothing enters or disrupts this construct.  _

Smith would have already left 15 seconds ago if Cass had been programmed and instructed to tell visitors to fuck off or face the prospect of a disassembled and rearranged skull. 

_ “Do I have your cooperation?” _

“Yes!”

Nothing happened as he spoke. No message sent chime sounded and nothing appeared on the screen. Again, the universe and everything in it seemed poise to trip Smith up. It was the prospect of accidentally sending another profane message that kept his temper intact and mouth shut.

_ “The complete destruction of your craft is an option I must consider in order to properly contain the danger, should you remain unconvinced to leave peacefully.” _

Smith could only feel a sickness in his stomach as he listened to that threat. Just flying away seemed like the best option to take, but Smith had no idea how to turn around on a dime. The only thing he knew about turning in his short self-taught piloting career was to accelerate forwards and then steer in the desired direction. Such a flightpath could be interpreted as an attack. The only option he could see would be to send another message, one of sincere compliance. He looked around and racked his brain to try and figure out what the hell he did to send his original message. 

_ “Is there anything within reasonable grounds that can be done in order to truly convince you to leave?” _

Deep in thought and seriously just contemplating turning around and flying away from the talking soda can without saying anything, he held his closed fist over his mouth. 

The chime sounded off again, with the same ‘MESSAGE SENT’ indicator on the screen. The message being replayed was simply just a few seconds of white noise, with a hint of Smith’s own breathing. 

_ “I suppose that will have to be considered progress. Continuing on, could you possibly be incentivized to leave?” _

Smith didn’t know what the word ‘incentivized’ meant, but he did finally figure out how the hell he actually sent those messages. The electronic systems in both the ship and his suit were integrated and paired with one another. It only made sense that there would be a method of controlling the ship and its systems while being outside the ship. Without delay, he clenched his fist. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

_ “Wonderful. A drone will be dispatched to deliver you some supplies, enough to see you through the rest of your journey through the red zone surrounding this construct. Upon receipt of the supplies, you will be given a 5 minute grace period to leave.” _

“Hahahahahaha!”

He continued this involuntary spasm of laughter as he grabbed his helmet and began to lower it onto his head. The knowledge that he had been splashing around the middle of a red zone this entire time normally would have mortified him, but he was just too mentally and emotionally spent. The escape from Russ and the police did seem way too easy. Smith’s own personal pet theory about the red zones was a million times more sinister and overtly threatening than a multilingual soda can offering supplies to discourage people from staying. To be able to get away from a red zone while gaining something of value sounded like winning a million lotteries. Whatever the hell Smith was doing, for the first time ever, seemed to be working so far. 


	9. Chapter 9

Nothing was working for Lucia. Her wrist device still had no connection and wasn’t working. Yelling wasn’t working. Kicking and punching the lid of the container wasn’t working. Crying wasn’t working. Time itself didn’t seem to be working either. This act of solitary confinement and sensory deprivation had completely killed her ability to guess how long she was in there. 

Suddenly there was a muffled mechanical noise, and a shake. Lucia could feel herself getting pulled to the left. The container was in motion, that much she knew for sure. Given the direction that she remembered facing as she lowered herself in, she immediately knew where this cargo was going. The kicking and screaming intensified, but as expected it wasn’t working. Nothing could stop what was happening and that feeling of helplessness terrified her more than the question of where she could possibly be headed. 

In that strange and cramped space of absolute darkness, Lucia could only think of the Dawn. When it happens, it’s not going to be a fair process. Not everyone will be able to go and reclaim Mother Earth. Some would have to stay behind and keep the station operational. It’s about not keeping all of one’s eggs in one’s basket. Lucia had never seen or eaten an egg in her life, but she understood the analogy. Part of humanity would have to remain in space. A population of hundreds is needed at a bare minimum to sustain the station. That was her own theory about the true intent of the clan points system. Top performers would get priority when it came time for the Dawn to begin. Those thoughts of life on Earth enabled her to punch harder, kick higher, and devote her entire life to the people of her clan and the station as a whole. 

There were so many things she had read or been taught about that she would give anything to experience. Standing at the foot of a mountain and breathing in the fresh air. Feeling the hot sun on her body as she explored a beach untouched unspoiled in hundreds of years. Sinking her teeth into the skin and flesh of a ripe fruit. Partaking in the thrill of the hunt and sustaining herself without any worries of cargo or points or competition. Being her own boss and not adhering to a rigid schedule of tasks and challenges. Not having to wait and wait and wait for true companionship and the chance to feel real intimacy with somebody. 

It was all well-understood by everybody, the need for population control. Any more than 1800 people, and the resources of the station would begin to feel the strain. Fights for cargo and points would become more fierce. The human brain developed its capacity to socialize hundreds of thousands of years ago when tribes would max out at 150 people before splitting and once again growing. Any more than 150 people in any of the 12 clans, and social disorders and problems might arise. As a result of all of this, love and sex between two people is something that’s carefully managed and assigned by Cass. Lucia would have no choice but to wait for her turn to feel less lonely. Despite doing nothing wrong and doing everything Cass said, her reward for the time being was just the chance to sit in this dumb container and feel more loneliness than she thought possible. That and the occasional shake and turn as the container continued on its journey. 

All she could know for certain is that it wasn’t the Dawn. A trip all the way to Earth would take weeks, and a cargo container would be a poor choice of vessel to do it. Even discounting considerations about food and water, there just simply wasn’t enough air in both her suit and the container. Her concerns about the length of this trip were cut short as the container was rocked violently several times, knocking her knees and helmet into the container lid and forcing her to extend her arms out to prevent cargo from shifting into her from the side. The motion subsided, but was replaced with a sudden feeling of motion sickness. Her whole body went from feeling weightless to feeling heavy, as if gravity had suddenly gotten switched on all at once. That’s not how gravity was supposed to work, especially out here in the deep reaches of space. That knowledge that this was supposed to be impossible did nothing to stop the tears coming out of her eyes from flowing down her face. 


	10. Chapter 10

Smith wasn’t going to make the same mistake with the container that he made with the last one. “Two hands this time, jackass” he verbally reminded himself as he stuck his helmeted head outside of the airlock and awaited the promised drone delivery. A tense and anxious minute later, and he could see the drone approaching. If there was a time and place for him to get betrayed and blown up, this would be it. It wasn’t a very nice feeling, putting his entire fate on the whims and desires of someone or something else. It was putting his faith in others to raise him up and look out for his best interests that got him scammed into leaving Earth in the first place. But now wasn’t the time for that nostalgia bullshit. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and just focused on catching this delivery. 

He reached out and made the perilous grab as the drone moved in close. By all appearances, it seemed to be a standard-issue common drone toting a regular-sized container. There was a bit of heaviness to the container as he pulled it towards the airlock, but it was still very manageable. Juggling it from one hand to both hands, he guided it back into the artificial gravity of the ship as the airlock safely closed in behind him. There wasn’t any time to open it with the still imminent threat of having his ship destroyed. He gently placed it on the floor and ran back to the pilot’s seat. He drove as slow as he could, gently steering away from the rotating station and back into the void surrounding it. 

Feeling immense relief from not being turned to paste by the strange installation, he removed his helmet and squeezed fist tight to send another message. 

“Okay, goodbye forever.”

Releasing his fist, he expected to hear the chime of a message successfully sent. 

Instead, all he heard was a loud pop from inside the main console, and the sudden smell of burning plastic that stung his nostrils. 

“FUCK!”

Smith fumbled with his helmet as he tried to put it on. The little ship began to fill with smoke and the sound of what he assumed to be the fire alarm. With his helmet on, it became a receptacle for the many, many expletives he was constantly blaring out. The main source of the smoke seemed to be the left side of the console. Sleeping with a fire extinguisher next to his bed was second-nature for Smith, so he lunged for the one perched above the bed alcove. Momentarily flat-footed and clumsy, he tripped over his own feet and began to fall forward. Reaching out to help break his fall, he grasped the curtain covering the bed alcove. Unwilling to let go, his forward momentum and body mass was enough to completely tear it off of its track as he fell down onto his knees. He threw the busted curtain aside and used the bed frame to steady himself enough to stand up and grab the extinguisher. 

The smoke obscured his vision as he turned around to aim. Guided by blinking emergency lights, he aimed towards what hopefully was the source of the fire and activated the extinguisher. For 30 seconds he sprayed in a figure 8 pattern, covering a wide swath of the console in flame-retardant foam. Remembering a cool feature he discovered when he was bored and reading the instructions written on the helmet interior, he spoke “Infrared” and the helmet obeyed. The glass window in front of his face darkened and projected in front of his eyes was an infrared image of what lay before him. From what he could tell, the fire extinguisher had done the trick as the one hot spot he saw before him seemed to be cooling down. The smoke was heavy, but would eventually be cleaned out by the ventilation system. For the time being, Smith felt safe as he tossed the spent extinguisher aside. 

Not wanting to remove his helmet just yet, he took a few slow steps backward towards the bed and sat down. 

“Infrared!” he commanded. Nothing happened. 

“Shit.” He muttered. He knew how to turn infrared on, but had forgotten how to turn it back off. Not wanting to breathe in any smoke, he would have to wait before consulting the instructions. Taking this moment to look around the ship to see if anything else got fucked up in the commotion, the dark square of the supply drop from the strange station stuck out. It was still so much colder than the floor around it. It didn’t take very much internal debate for him to decide to walk over and pull it towards the bed so he could pry it open while sitting. The bottom of the box, helped along by the condensation forming on it, slid along with ease. With no pause, he began to undo the main clasps along the side. 


	11. Chapter 11

Lucia couldn’t even calculate how fast she must have been going after several minutes of this apparent acceleration. It was happening at a rate close to 9.8 meters per second squared, that she could tell. The energy it would take to maintain this level of acceleration was beyond measure and it was still increasing exponentially with no stop in sight. Obviously, that’s impossible. And it definitely couldn’t be gravity, as gravity couldn’t just come from nowhere in the blink of an eye like that. It was a 5 minute ladder descent for Lucia to normally go from weightlessness to full artificial gravity. This happened in less than a second. She had no good answers, a familiar theme for her day so far.

What was even more unsettling than all this, were the noises she began to hear. Indistinct shaking and booms and roars, muffled by the container walls and her own suit. She couldn’t place their location, as they seemed to be coming from both up close and far out. Occasionally they were from very far out. Wherever this was, it had some size to it. The noise would intensify and then die off in unpredictable spurts before finally dying down to nothing. After a minute of this relative silence, the booming began again and could be heard getting closer and closer. A loud crash shook the entire container, and she felt as if the entire contraption was being pulled to the side by some unknown force. There was another unsettling pause that made her wish for this to finally be over. Her body tensed up as she finally heard the unmistakable sound of the container lid being slowly pried open. As the lid lifted upwards smoke poured onto her and distant blinking lights illuminated her.. She rolled forwards onto her knees and began to stand up, as she was mentally prepared for the possibility she would have to run, hide, fight, or die. 

“That’s interesting.”

Before Smith could really examine the indistinct and curiously warm object at the very top of the container he just opened, an alert chime played on the inside of his helmet, followed by a critical message.

“POWER SUPPLY DAMAGED. POWER AT 25 PERCENT. DISABLING THRUST. DISABLING ONBOARD ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY.”

Smith was paralyzed by indecision and resigned himself to just float in place as all of the gravity evaporated from the interior of the ship. While there seemed to be no immediate danger with the fire having been extinguished, the loss of most of the ship’s power was a death sentence. He’d heard enough stories from travelers to have a vague idea of the terrible ordeal of being trapped on a dead ship. As if the prospect of eventual starvation wasn’t bad enough, the human body just simply isn’t adapted to being suspended in freefall for very long periods of time. Muscles and bones will wither away no matter how much a person exercises and eats. People aren’t really meant to live anywhere, especially the cold empty straits of space. The skies he looked up to in his youth should have remained a backdrop, and not a setting. But yet, here he was all the same. As the smoke begin to give way, Smith began to gain back small amounts of clarity which he began to softly verbalize to himself inside his suit. 

“You’re so stupid. So dumb. Such a moron. What were you thinking, coming out here? Dumb fucking earthborn…” he quietly spat out, covering the inside of his helmet with spittle as he did so. 

Lucia wasn’t as concerned with the sudden lack of gravity as Smith was. In the midst of absolute chaos, she needed some guidance from home. She slapped and wiggled her arm, activating her wrist communicator. Cass would know what was going on. 

“CASS! CASS! Can you hear me? Cass! I need you!” she yelled with trembling lips. The loud noises surrounding her and shaking her suit couldn’t compare to the silence of her radio. Cass was not programmed to ever intentionally ignore everybody. The only possibility that stuck out as sensible in Lucia’s mind was more interference. Lucia didn’t have time to try to diagnose further as she took a look around to try to figure out where the hell she was and what the hell was going on. 

The first thing that stuck out in Lucia’s mind was the size of this roughly circular room she was in. It paled in comparison to the open space of the station, but it was still a massive area. There was at least a couple hundred feet of empty space above and around her. It was a very inefficient use of space in Lucia’s mind. The materials that made up the ceiling and the walls were inconsistent and unfamiliar to her. There was no rhyme or reason in the layout as shiny metallic surfaces clashed with soft-looking and fuzzy surfaces. All the while, blinking lights and swirling smoke brought up even more questions of this enclosure. 

There wasn’t time for Lucia to continue to scrutinize the design and function of this odd new space or even take notice of the apparatus covered in foam. All of her attention was snapped onto  _ it. _

It was definitely humanoid in shape as far as she could tell. It could best be described as an oversized parody of a human in a space suit. That goddamn thing must have been at least 100 feet tall, by Lucia’s quick rough estimate. Of all the times Lucia felt fear today so far, this instance sent the biggest chill down her spine. 

“Cass. I really, really need you now…” she meekly spoke as all hope bled out of her. 

It didn’t seem to be doing anything, but it wasn’t completely still. What constituted its arms and legs gave little twitches. The head of this thing, masked behind an opaque glass covering not unlike her own helmet, occasionally jerked back and forth. Her first immediate guess was that it was mechanical in nature. A really huge drone of some sort, she figured. She found it plausible and sensible that maybe this is what is in charge of assembling cargo. Something in this room had to have pried off the lid of her cargo container. And now it was up in the air and malfunctioning. 

A sigh of relief escaped from her. It all made so much sense. This strange and gigantic cargo packing robot needed to be repaired. Some sort of catastrophic event obviously took place here. It offered up a good explanation for the smoke and the disarray. A break-up of the supply chain in the cargo would have dire consequences for the survival of her station. Getting this machinery back into order had to be her mission and reason for being here. 

A number of troubling questions still remained. Why had Cass been so secretive about the nature of this mission? Why wasn’t anybody allowed to look out and survey what was going on? Why would Cass send only one person on a mission this critical? What were all those gravitational anomalies she felt? Where would she even begin in figuring out how to fix this mess? All of these questions were momentarily pushed to the back of her mind as she heard an urgent chime in her left ear. Her suit was dangerously low on oxygen. 

She tensed herself up and raised her hands up to the seam connecting her helmet to her suit. All she could do was close her eyes and hope that there was a breathable atmosphere waiting for her. If there wasn’t, she wouldn’t have very long to fret about it. Taking in one last breath, she unclasped the helmet and let it float away upwards. 

Smith carried on his pity party, now having completely fogged up the inside of his helmet as the angry words continually streamed out of him. No use keeping the stupid thing on, he figured. A little smoke wouldn’t kill him. 

“Fucking idiot! Fucking idiot! Fucking idiot!..” he blathered out he unclasped his helmet and pushed it away. 

These words trailed off to silence. Something bothered him deeply. It wasn’t the sting of smoke in his eyes, or the mountain of fuck this ship has decided to pile up on top of him. It was something he hadn’t felt in several days. A sense that he was being watched. While his senses had a habit of getting him into trouble, Smith wasn’t one to immediately discount them. He instinctively looked around the ship. It wasn’t long before his eyes went down to the crate he had picked up, and the strange little figure floating just above it and staring back at him. 

“What the hell are you?”

The feeling was mutual. 


	12. Chapter 12

Lucia never believed in demons or aliens. Those were always just the subject of bedtime stories to make children behave. They were a relic from a superstitious and illogical past. It was that type of thinking that caused the long night in the first place. Lucia was too smart and educated to fall into that trap. But how else could she be expected to explain just what the hell that was? 

Everything about it screamed ‘demon!’ to Lucia. Human looking in every single way, but scaled at a monstrously inhuman size. The first time it spoke, it did so with ancient vulgarity she only recognized from the few stories and records on the station that existed before the beginning of the long night. Not even in the most heated competitions back on the station did anyone ever call anyone else a fucking idiot. There wasn’t even time to process the volume of those words, the angry and guttural tone, and the fact that Lucia hadn’t done anything to deserve being subjected to that word choice. Those eyes put an end to all speculation in her. 

There was nothing friendly or inviting about its - no, *his* - gaze. A feeling of resignation washed over her. She’d been shipped off to her death. The smoke even gave credibility to the idea that she had already died and this was hell, but she thought better of that. This was a sacrifice. The station was paying a tax in the form of a box of supplies and one Lucia. That demon’s eyes had no innocence or good intentions behind them as they sized her up. She could have sworn there was a slightly wry look about him as he asked what the hell she was. 

Smith didn’t even give her time to properly formulate an answer. One cool thing he had discovered when he used to dick around in the suit was that the helmet display thingy could identify pretty much anything. Immediately after uttering those words of ‘what the hell are you?’, he grabbed the helmet and put it back on, pushing his feet against the wall to push himself closer. The contents of the box were picked up by the display. The only thing the display didn’t identify was that little figurine. There was just a big question mark transposed over its shape. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn’t human. 

“Must be some kind of toy.” Smith pondered out loud after taking off the helmet. The little figure recoiled and visibly reacted to those words. Smith had never seen any toy as lifelike as that one. A little woman in a spacesuit was what it resembled in his mind. This was definitely a strange gift. It could be worth something to somebody, provided Smith somehow miraculously survived long enough to make it out of the red zone. 

“Huh.” was all he could say he stopped looking the little toy over and turned his attention over to the flashing lights of the ship’s foam-covered console. Moving awkwardly, he pushed out his left leg just far enough to bring the tip of his boot into the floor, just enough to push him over towards the direction of the console. He wasn’t used to being without gravity for this long, and floated over with absolutely no control or grace. This is why they didn’t let Earthborns like him go out and mine asteroids. He hoped with all his might that he wouldn’t have to get used to this as he looked at the daunting series of buttons and hoped one of them would fix everything currently wrong with the ship. 

Lucia could finally breathe, and take offense over what this demon had just called her. A goddamn toy? Only something as twisted and evil as a demon could look over a person like her and call her that. As hopeless as it may be, she knew her only option was to try to get out of here. The greater good of the station and how this demon might react to her absence seemed distant and abstract. The longer she stayed here as his hostage, the worse it was going to get for her. Lucia looked down to see where she had dropped her helmet. The metal surface beneath her was receding away. 

“No, no no!” she softly said in a panic. All that time frozen under the demon’s gaze, and she hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening where she stood. She unclasped her left glove and felt the air around her. It was definitely in motion. Some sort of current was carrying her upwards. With her oxygen tank left nearly empty, she wasn’t even able to vent oxygen to provide enough thrust to get out of this air current. This brought back bad memories from her fights back on the station. Bigger and taller opponents, knowing they couldn’t outstrike or outlast Lucia, would just sometimes push and toss her away, leaving her to helplessly float in place and force a match to end in a draw. It was the main downside to her rather petite size. Just like before, all she could do now is hope and wait. Lucia was never much for prayer either, but now she prayed to the name of every deity she could remember. It was easy for her to read old stories and judge the people of the past. She knew what the end of their story was. If her ending was coming soon, she wished for it to be quick and easy.


End file.
